


Stick to the rules

by CamilleDuDemon



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Comfort, Developing Relationship, Introspection, M/M, Nightmares, Rules, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 17:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19909822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleDuDemon/pseuds/CamilleDuDemon
Summary: "I'm here. I've got you."Finch has never thought he would be saying those words again, let alone to someone to which he's so close, yet so irreparably distant like John Reese.I'm here. I've got you.A bunch of words tied together by a thin thread; it's a statement, an intention, it's hope and affection -- even though Finch likes to lie to himself and omit the last detail. Peace of mind purposes, he tells himself, it's just a matter of what's right and what's not, what's ethical and what's unethical, what's appropriate and what isn't, yet he knows better, he knows better it's just a blatant, bloody lie.





	Stick to the rules

"I'm here. I've got you."

Finch has never thought he would be saying those words again, let alone to someone to which he's so close, yet so irreparably distant like John Reese.

_ I'm here. I've got you. _

A bunch of words tied together by a thin thread; it's a statement, an intention, it's hope and affection -- even though Finch likes to lie to himself and omit the last detail. Peace of mind purposes, he tells himself, it's just a matter of what's right and what's not, what's ethical and what's unethical, what's appropriate and what isn't, yet he knows better, he knows better it's just a blatant, bloody lie.

It's him being a weak asshole, that's just it. Someone who can't even put his own emotions in place without crumbling to pieces.

But Reese doesn't know, right? And he doesn't need to know, for now. He doesn't need to hear the cogs spin within Harold's restless brain, constantly reminding him about how silly he's being, about how much damn precious time he's wasting over ethical matters and useless boundaries.

Harold reckons it doesn't matter, now; he has chosen to deliberately cross that line once he has heard John cry out in the middle of the night.  _ A nightmare. _

Sometimes he wonders what else is there in his brilliant mind aside from painful memories and nightmares. Most of the times, Harold knows: inside that fast brain there's a living human being,  _ a good man _ , caring and kind and whatnot, and his heart clenches in his chest whenever he thinks about Reese in those terms. 

He is currently holding a good man against his chest, his employee, his friend, and this is so unethical he doesn't even know what to say to justify his actions, or how to say it.

_ Mutual comfort _ , he thinks. _That's what friends do, they comfort each other._

_ Even if that's against the rules. _

Which rules he's following, though, Finch doesn't entirely know. He made them up and, in times of changing conditions and fortunes, he has screwed them up many times, but he's damn sure he  _ shouldn't  _ be holding Reese against his chest right now, waiting for his night terror to go away so he can let out a relieved sigh and go back to his book. Not that he sleeps much, nowadays. Not that he has ever been a heavy-sleeper at all. 

And  _ why on earth _ , he wonders,  _ why on earth should a nightmare get chased away by simple human contact, by the heat of another body pressed against yours?  _ This thought alone is enough to get his mouth dry instantly.  _ What was he thinking? _

He wasn't properly thinking, to be fair. When he heard John's muffled screams and agonizing moans, he just walked to him on autopilot and, on said autopilot, he climbed on his bed and -- well.

John groans something in his sleep and clenches his jaw, teeth clicking painfully arch against arch.

"It's...it's gonna be okay,  _ John _ ", Harold whispers. He never calls him by his chosen first name, but sometimes he can't help but wonder how would it feel like to call him John when he's awake.  _ John, John, John, John.  _ Not Mr. Reese, which is a fairly distant and formal way to address him -  _ rules #1-#2, stick to the rules and keep partnerships professional - _ but just... _ John. _ As if they had met in more usual circumstances or like they had a normal life, with normal jobs and a normal, healthy amount of ignorance about what's going on all around them,  _ above them _ , about the goddamn cogs that spin and move the world.

But their circumstances aren't normal, right? They haven't met at work, on a normal, boring, white collar job; nor they have met in a small, cozy cafè, nor during any other activity that can be considered  _ normal. _

How much easier would it be? How much easier would it be to, perhaps, ask John out for a fancy dinner, or just a movie, yeah, a movie in a small theater, with popcorn and all those cliches Harold could only experience while watching cheesy romcoms -- he did, plenty of times, mostly with Grace; now he keeps it as a guilty pleasure of some sorts, in which to indulge every now and then.

How much easier would it be without the nightmares, the CIA, the Machine, the heartache?

How much easier would it be to finally be able to  _ touch  _ John, to  _ get close _ ?

They wouldn't need to be this private, if the circumstances were  _ right,  _ if their lives were normal.

Yet again, nothing is normal anymore - perhaps it has never been, Harold can't tell - and here they are, John battling with bad dreams and things that Harold can't completely understand or even merely picture in his head, and him, Harold, trying to provide some comfort, some safety, some  _ warmth. _

So, that's what he does. He just holds Reese, he keeps his arms wrapped around his muscular frame until he stops squirming and frowning and moaning, and he just hopes he doesn't open his eyes, not now, not when he doesn't know how to justify his foolish behavior.

He guesses he would stutter all along.  _ I heard you screaming, Mr.Reese, I just wanted to see if we were under attack. _

What a lame excuse. Pathetic, even. But luckily enough, Reese is too tired to actually wake up, which is a blessing to Harold, a real blessing indeed.

Yet, there's a hint of sorrow, a sharp sting hitting his guts because yes, why not, if Reese  _ would  _ just open his eyes, Harold feels like he'd be honest for once, he'd be  _ open _ , he would just say what needs to be said.  _ I care about you, John. I've grown fond of you, so fond, I might actually say the magic three words and screw everything up royally.  _ Harold thinks he has never ever needed to be as sincere as he feels like being now. Another one of the many things that will never happen, because he's given himself so many rules, so many times, he would fall apart if he was to break them so blatantly.

_ Rule #1, stick to the rules. _

And so he does, even though it feels wrong on so many levels, this time; gently, slowly and carefully, he steps away, untangling his limbs from Reese's, and with each passing moment he feels the sting of sorrow become sharper and sharper. But Reese sleeps now, definitely more peacefully than fifteen minutes ago, and Harold's presence isn't required anymore.  _ John doesn't need anymore comfort _ : a simple, relieving statement, theoretically speaking...it's not that easy, though, to accept. Even though Harold must accept it, willing or not, because he made up rules to follow and therefore he  _ shouldn't  _ even be here. 

With a defeated sigh, Harold Finch finally leaves Mr.Reese his privacy and tries to quietly recall all his rules, slowly, one by one.

_ Rule #1, stick to the rules; rule #2, keep partnerships professional; rule #3 don't show attachment or affection; rule #4, do not create a weak spot; rule #5, be as distant as you can be while still keeping relationships nice and civilized; rule #6 -- _


End file.
